What She's Looking For Read Online Free PDF Page B

she
knelt, naked at his feet, waiting, wanting.
    Obeying.
    He’d explored his sexuality with
other women of course, but in the most recent years of his life, he’d become
more comfortable with himself. Gone were the days as a young teenager wondering
if he were irretrievably broken, a sicko. The military helped him a lot in that
regard, first and foremost by getting him out of his own damn head. When all
you’re concerned about is saving your own ass, and the asses of your buddies, there’s
little time to be worried about your psycho-sexual development.
    Once he’d retired though — such an
odd term for a man not yet even forty years old — he’d had time to figure out
who the hell he was. What he was. And soon he realized he didn’t care about the what anymore. He just decided to be Parker. He stopped being afraid of
scaring off girlfriends and started being honest about what he wanted. A few
broke it off, and a few (shockingly, to him) were quite non-disturbed by
his revelations. He’d even had one tell him, “That’s called being a man. We
women generally like that.” That had been Sandra, and for a time, he’d
considered marrying her. But soon, they’d drifted apart, not bitterly so, just
in the way people sometimes do, gravitating toward different paths in life.
They’d parted amicably, her last gift to him the name and address for a place
in Seattle. It was called Sanctum.
    A rather banal name, he’d thought
at first, assuming it was nothing more than a dance club. It turned out to be quite
a bit more than that, however, and there he’d lost himself in the temporary
pleasures, the blissful distractions of a BDSM club. Then one night he’d
recognized the bruiser of a man working as head of security at Sanctum.
    He was a man who’d once saved
Parker’s life. His name was Drake Woodson.
    Parker stopped to catch his breath
at the highest point of his property. It was a rocky precipice that overlooked
the breathtaking expanse of Lake Chelan, far below the ridge. He stooped, hands
on his knees as he breathed deeply, the scent of sagebrush and scotch broom
mixed with the pines that dotted the hillside and most of his land. He would
always love that smell, the memories of his childhood in this part of Washington. He was glad he’d come back after his discharge, and he knew he’d never leave it
again.
    He started back on the return leg
that skirted the western edge of his land, snaking through the thick Lodgepole
pine and Douglas fir that made it all but impassable for anything larger than
an elk. The darkness of the tree stand lent an even stronger blanket of quiet
and calm to the cold morning air. His lungs burned from the harshness of the
cold, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Burning lungs meant you were
alive, could feel. There was a time he wasn’t sure about either one.
    Trudging back up the steps of the
front porch, he dropped down onto the top step, his long hands hanging loosely
over his bent knees. The pleasant exhaustion following a good run was the best
part. To be wrung out, spent, looking forward to a long hot shower.
    (Always better with your little
Ashley)
    It was fortunate he was sitting,
for the thought had him almost instantly erect. Another side effect of running;
not the perverted mind of course — that was congenital — but the physical … responsiveness.
The runner’s high was more than a mental state for him. It had a physical
manifestation too.
    Sandra had known about the effect
running sometimes had on him, and occasionally she took advantage of it. One
morning as he walked back into his bedroom, peeling off his sweat soaked
t-shirt, he’d been stopped in his tracks by the bewitching sight of a naked
Sandra bent over the foot of his bed, her shapely little bottom in the air.
Beside her on the mattress was her paddle and two condoms. He’d used the
condoms last.
    As he stepped into the shower, the
hot water cascading over his erection, he thought of Ashley. How